


Taste of (Your) Scars, Skin so Sweet

by Renabe



Category: RWBY
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Excessive use of the word fuck, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Scars, Silliness during Sauce, Spice rack, Tendie like chickie nuggie, Tonal whiplash- fr they go back and forth from tender and sauce like nobody's business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe
Summary: Vermilion eyes look him over, gazing thoughtfully into that heated look and lighting up at the honest eagerness that greets them. Okay, Qrow nods, leaning in for another kiss as fingers resume their search for marks ingrained in skin.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	Taste of (Your) Scars, Skin so Sweet

A featherlight touch, tentative, inquisitory. The hitched breath of a reply, bated, anticipatory. 

That touch becomes a gentle caress, fingers sliding carefully along a fair shoulder, continuing to stroke a toned arm while lips press a sweet smile against knuckles, fingers laced.

Qrow shivers at the sensation. The gesture is soft, subtle, and yet it feels heavy, grounding, full of so many reassurances to unspoken insecurities. A pause, weight resting against a scar, one of many, before gliding purposefully along the mark, soothing pain that has long since dulled. The motion is repeated at the next jagged line on skin, and the next, until all have been delicately traced, committed once more to memory.

“Clover,” the raspy whisper slips from him of its own accord. He hadn't meant to breathe a desperate sigh of his name. Feels a little embarrassed for doing so at such a simple act. Especially since it's not the first time those hands have touched him so affectionately, so reverently, as though he was something to be cherished. As though he mattered.

Green eyes flick up at the hushed call of his name, soften helplessly at the expression that greets them, all flushed cheeks and eyes that are just a little wide, pout on his lips at being seen. Those dark eyes shimmer with a flicker of shyness, but they do not look away. Eyebrows knit together as he works through it, relaxing when at last those seafoam eyes remind him that, to Clover? He does matter, has always mattered. Perhaps more than he realises.

The thought courses through him, twisting, turning, telling him to show the man just how much that means to him, to remind him that he matters too, and he finds himself untangling his hand from Clover’s. He allows no time to lament the loss of contact, pressing that hand to a shoulder, pushing him so that his back hits the sheets, and climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. Qrow stares into those bright eyes, alight with curiosity.

 _My turn already?_ they seem to say, as calloused hands reach for him, grazing a familiar scar just under his ribs. As if to say he wasn't finished yet. And oh, Qrow knows he will never be finished, that mapping all the imperfections marring his skin would take a lifetime. He hopes it does take that long, if it means these hands will never leave him.

But right now, he doesn't want it to be about him. Right now he wants to shower Clover with the same expert care, the same tender affection he gives so freely. So wholeheartedly.

Fingertips graze a smooth jaw, pausing at the tiny dip of skin, a little scar so faint, that most don't know is there. But he knows. He knows the tale as well, a line that snapped, whipping back at skin. It was a long time ago, and so insignificant, Clover had said, but it's significant to Qrow.

Clover's hands still on their perch, frozen at the brush of contact, accepting that it is his turn after all. And he can't help the fond smile that forms on his lips as the pad of a thumb presses lightly over that scar, rubs skin adoringly before moving on.

As Qrow’s hand seeks the next scar, he leans in to press a kiss to the first, a sweet brush of lips to that jaw while fingers glide down the column of his neck to his collarbone. He doesn’t need to look to find this scar, either. He can feel it as sure as he feels the twitch of hands at his waist once he does. This one is longer than the first, wider, near where his collarbone meets his left shoulder and usually hidden beneath clothing.

Vytal tournament, the other kid got in a lucky hit. Clover wasn’t so great at directing his semblance back then. He still managed to win that match, so he claims anyway. Qrow regularly jokes with him about it, says he doesn’t believe him, but he’ll never check the records because he knows Clover is telling the truth.

Fingers press to skin, drag down the length of the scar and stop at its edge. Which one next, he thinks as his mouth trails kisses down from Clover’s jaw toward the second scar. When lips press to the hollow of his neck, a soft whine reaches Qrow’s ears, a faint, needy little sound. _Oh, already?_ His lips form a mischievous smile against that neck before parting to drag a hot tongue across skin, delighting in the sharp inhale of breath, in the feel of fingers digging into his waist.

The reaction spurs him on, continuing with open mouthed, wet kisses until he reaches that next scar. Lips hover over a collarbone, press a chaste kiss to uneven skin. Then those lips part for teeth that gingerly nip at the mark, pull skin between them in a pinch of a bite.

“Q-Qrow,” that deep, honey sweet voice groans in his ear, and oh, the sudden hot breath catches him by surprise, makes him bite down a little too hard. Before he can even consider an apology, a pitiful whimper fills the air as hips buck up against him. _Well then._

He gives a quick, apologetic kiss to the spot before slowly leaning back to send a smirk Clover’s way. “When were you gonna tell me you like rougher bites?” Red eyes dance playfully, enjoying the sight of burning cheeks, of bright, seafoam eyes that are not quite focused. With a fond sigh, Qrow runs a hand through brunet locks, drawing him back. “Hey there, Cloves… you still with me?”

The splash of colour on cheeks darken, and green eyes dart away briefly before returning to red. “Yeah, I just… I didn’t- I didn’t _know_ -” he breaks off, still surprised by his own reaction. It stings a little and is sure to leave a mark, but he can’t be bothered to care about that right now.

“Slow down there, sweetheart,” Qrow soothes, presses a reassuring kiss to trembling lips. “Sorry for the sudden bite. I’ll be more careful.” Fingers continue to stroke strands of chestnut, brushing them back and exposing the new greys underneath. He smiles that fond, crooked little smile as Clover leans into the gesture, notably calmer.

An embarrassed huff, more of a pout, escapes Clover, and he gives that waist under his fingers a quick squeeze to say he’s okay. Teal eyes darken as eyebrows lift ever so slightly, and he grins up at Qrow. “And if I don’t want you to be careful, what then?”

Vermilion eyes look him over, gazing thoughtfully into that heated look and lighting up at the honest eagerness that greets them. Okay, Qrow nods, leaning in for another kiss as fingers resume their search for marks ingrained in skin.

Nails score down Clover's left arm, dragging over muscle, eliciting a hiss against his lips. He smiles back. Slows right about where a red ascot usually sits. Fingertips graze the scar tucked slightly to the underside of that arm, press against it more firmly than the others. This area is more sensitive, anything lighter and he would send the man into a fit of giggles. Cute, really. And this scar is from Qrow himself, or rather, from his corvid form. Someone really ought not push the bird’s buttons while holding him in the crook of his elbow, he recalls in amusement.

Qrow gives one last peck to soft lips before thinking it's time he return to the task of kissing his way to those scars. He picks up where he left off, a tender touch to reddened skin, continuing along the path his fingers took moments prior. He pauses as a hand tangles in his hair, gives an insistent tug on feathery locks.

"Mm, what, you don't want me to bite your bicep?"

Clover groans something unintelligible in response, releases his hold on fine hair. Qrow huffs a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking lightly with mirth as he resumes his task, but not before the hand that still rests on his side gives an indignant pinch to skin.

The playful back and forth always fills Qrow with a gentle kind of warmth, even during heated moments, and he’s grateful for it. It’s comfortable, reassuring even, to be able to be so fully himself with someone and to receive the same in return.

Qrow lifts Clover’s arm, removing the hand from his waist, fingers cradling an elbow as his mouth finds that scar. Gives a tentative nibble at first, just to the small strip of skin marred white. He feels the shiver that runs through Clover, the new fingers that tangle in his hair and hold on tight. Slowly, he releases skin from that little nip, opens his mouth a little wider, bites down a little more hungrily. 

And oh, the whimper that reaches his ears is divine. The pull on his hair as the grip of fingers tightens, as muscles tense and constrict, just feels _so good_. He allows himself to simply enjoy the helpless reaction a few moments before withdrawing teeth, pressing soothing lips to the area. His own hand slides from elbow to wrist, squeezing gently to coax fingers from hair as his mouth continues its work of leaving sweet kisses all the way down Clover’s arm. He lingers at the pulse of a wrist, just feeling the quickened thrum beneath the surface.

He sends a sideways glance to Clover’s face, catching green eyes on him, not quite half-lidded as they watch him with a glint of excitement. He holds that gaze as he presses lips to a palm, lets out a hot breath against skin that causes fingers to twitch. Holds that gaze still as lips seek those fingers, place a delicate kiss to a gold band before dragging along little scars from Kingfisher’s line, grazes them faintly with teeth. Notices the bobbing of Clover’s adam’s apple as he swallows, anticipating something a little more than the delicate pressure Qrow grants him now.

 _That's it_ , Qrow muses to himself, _expect more_. He used to shy away from expectations, spent his whole life knowing he could never meet them, no matter how small. But when it's Clover, when it's them, he thrives. Thrives on the desire to give all of himself and more, to not only meet but exceed those expectations. To surprise Clover, and himself, at every turn.

Speaking of surprises, he draws that hand away from his face, earning a slightly disgruntled huff at the loss of contact. That is, before he drags that hand down his own neck, warm palm and fingers sliding slowly along burning skin. And that pout shifts, tongue darting out to lick lips. Qrow stops at his chest, cradling that hand in place where he's sure the skittering beat can be felt, almost heard with how loudly it thuds in his own ears.

"Please tell me it's your turn again," comes the heady whisper, ending on a teasing note as fingers squeeze a firm pec.

And oh, it takes Qrow a few moments to decide between smiling softly at his love's need to touch him, to continue what he started, and grinning wickedly at what he plans to do next. He ultimately settles on the latter, slowly guiding that hand down his chest, over his abs, skirting a defined v line on the way to rest against his hip. He can almost feel Clover’s frustration at not being permitted to let his hand roam as it pleases. 

“My turn? Cloves, I’m just getting started here.” He releases that hand to reach out and brush the back of fingers to a freckled cheek, eyes crinkling fondly as Clover nuzzles him back. “I haven’t even gotten to the most important scar yet.”

His hand slips from that beloved face, trails down the center of Clover’s chest, feels breath hitch nervously with the movement, but he does not stop there. No, his fingers continue lower still, move around his belly button- and it’s about here where he can tell Clover is breathing again, for which he feels little guilty, but the man really should know better- and stop just above the waistband on his briefs. There’s a faded scar peeking out from underneath that waistband, and he pokes it playfully, grinning up at bewildered green.

Feeling just a little foolish for assuming anything more serious from such a brat, Clover gives Qrow’s thigh a rough squeeze in retaliation before the laugh tears free from him. Most important scar, his foot. More like most embarrassing. And Qrow knows it too. Clover was using Kingfisher in a fight after a Sabyr bit into its reel, jamming the parts. Needless to say, when he went to retract the line, it wasn’t very cooperative. He was admittedly lucky the hook hit him where it did, but his teammates at the time made fun of him mercilessly for weeks about the close call.

He’s brought abruptly back from the memory as Qrow scoots back to sit on his thighs, and _oh_ , a little warning might have been nice, he thinks, suppressing a shudder at the brush of contact as weight shifts. And then Qrow grins up at him briefly, tugs his waistband down just a bit, and leans down to press lips to that scar on sensitive skin. 

Clover doesn’t even try to fight the whine at the pleasant touch, hand once again tangling itself in dark hair. “You are such a teas- Ah! _Qrow_ ,” he growls at the bite, albeit not very convincingly when it tapers off into a moan. And oh, when teeth are replaced with a hot tongue, he simply can’t help but arch up into it, fingers tightening their grip on greying locks.

Using that hold to tilt Qrow’s head back, desperate green finds very pleased looking red. He raises an eyebrow at that satisfied expression, lips quirking into an indulgent grin of his own. He recognises that look, all right. That’s the look of a brat who not only knows exactly what he’s doing, but also plans to continue being a horrendous tease for a bit longer. Just a bit, though. Clover can tell he’s starting to get impatient too, can feel it in the way he presses against him just a little more, craving contact in all the same ways. He loosens his hold, slipping that hand to cradle a cheek, thumb brushing softly against flushed skin.

“Go ahead, pretty bird. Do your worst.”

And that’s all the encouragement it seems he needs as he ducks out of reach, sliding farther down to slip a hand under Clover’s knee, lifting his thigh up to trail kisses slowly along soft skin. He takes a little bite, earning a slight jolt, his love expecting something a bit harder. But Qrow returns to wet kisses as he travels up the inside of his thigh. Pauses about halfway, gives Clover a moment to prepare before he bites down again. And hips jerk at the sensation, a deep moan tearing through the man.

And gods, but the sound is music to his ears, and he hums against sweet skin, eager and needy in his own way. Clover's other thigh presses against him, and oh, he can't help but pull it tighter against his head, slipping that knee over his shoulder as he licks a searing strip across a reddening mark around the imprint of teeth. Muscles tense, a heel digging into his back helplessly, and he keeps moving. Slides his right hand along warm skin, nails grazing lightly as they caress his inner thigh, push the leg of briefs up higher as his mouth seeks softer, hotter skin. Still steady, unhurried motions driving them both mad.

Qrow presses his face into that crook where thigh meets pelvis, so close and yet not nearly close enough. But finally he’s in Clover’s reach again, and rough fingers brush back bangs to curl in dark strands. Thighs squeeze a little insistently, and Qrow lets out a muffled moan against skin at the firm reminder of just how much Clover wants him. Needs him.

Almost. But not yet.

Qrow delicately teases skin between teeth, gentle in such a sensitive spot. Fingers in his hair clench, tugging strands firmly, urgently.

“Thought I said,” murmurs a low voice, “you don't need to be careful.”

Qrow glances up, and the look on Clover’s face completely ruins him. Eyes dark and shuttered, cheeks flushed a pretty red, bottom lip pulled taut in a bite as he tries desperately to hold back and wait. Wait for his bratty love to stop tormenting him.

And oh, Qrow wants to give him everything he needs. Holding that gaze, teeth take a larger bite, and Clover _writhes_ , grip on hair and sheet tight as he resists the urge to throw his head back and moan. No, he wants to see his pretty bird at work, see how much his pleasure turns him on too, hear and feel the pleasant sounds made against his skin, watch him admire his work as teeth pull away.

The tips of fingers fiddle idly with the hem of briefs, taunting the skin beneath, and red eyes peer impishly up at green. “So… should I take these off, or…”

Clover surges forward to claim the lips that speak such enticing words, hands cupping a sharp jaw and pulling him closer. He mumbles a husky _yes_ against lips before drinking from them once more, fully, desperately, as though they were his sole provider of air, of life. And Qrow can do little else but pour every bit of himself to the man, let him drink until his heart's content.

Fingers curl around a waistband, and a faint whimper spurs a flurry of motion. Qrow lifts that band and tugs briefs down, hands slipping back to cup firm cheeks as he lifts just enough to slide fabric down, tugs it farther around thighs. Takes him in his hands, practiced and slow, so slow Clover growls in frustration, low and heated against lips. Qrow teasingly turns his head to press sweet kisses to freckled cheeks instead. 

Hands slide back into dark locks as Clover breathes a harsh expletive, presses his face into Qrow's neck as a thumb strokes just so. And oh, he really should know better, he is reminded as lips brush against his own neck before he feels the teasing nip of teeth once more.

He tugs Qrow back by his hair before he can even consider biting harder. Gives him a warning look.

After the initial grunt from being interrupted so rudely, Qrow can't help but grin devilishly at furrowed eyebrows and pouting lips as they melt away under his touch. “Wassa matter, Cloves? Scared it’ll feel too good too fast?”

The brunet shudders at the increased pace, at the cool metal band that's rapidly warming against hot skin, flushes a little embarrassed at the insinuation. Oh, but if that’s how this brat wants to play, then he’ll have to answer in kind.

“Was hoping,” he starts, pausing as a moan forms in his throat, “you were getting tired of biting. That maybe you wanna start sucking instead.”

“Mm, if you let me do that...” He licks his lips with a soft whine. “Then you really aren’t gonna last long at all, pretty charm.”

There’s a twitch beneath his fingers, and he drags out the next stroke, holds for a few moments at the end, gliding his thumb tantalizingly over the tip.

“F-fuck, Qrow… You can’t just, _hnn_ , tease me with your mouth inches from my dick and expect me to be okay.” There’s almost a gruff little laugh as he stumbles through his words, voice low, pitch spiking with each languid pump.

Red eyes shine bright and teasing as he responds, “You’re the one who pulled this mouth up here. I was planning on sucking you off from the moment you squeezed my face between your thighs.” And oh, the stiffening under fingertips is even more abrupt at those words, he notes with a grin. With a suggestive smacking of lips, Qrow peeks up beneath long lashes. “So as much as I _love_ it when you pull my hair, handsome... if you’ll loosen your grip a bit, I can get back to work.”

The offer has Clover pressing a crushing kiss to lips, sure to get a taste of the inside of that mouth, sucks suggestively on his tongue, a preamble to what he knows he’s about to receive, before easing his hold on Qrow’s hair. “Then it’s _your_ turn,” he murmurs against that mouth, leaving no room for argument. And this time, Qrow leaves it at that.

Qrow withdraws his hands, and that earns him a pitiful whimper, to slide briefs completely off before settling himself comfortably between Clover’s thighs. Takes a moment to simply admire him, from his pretty eyes and full lips to his broad chest and sculpted abs, muscled arms and thighs and all the beautiful scars that lie between. And, _well_... he hooks his arms under those thighs, reaching up to slide hands across lower abdominals. One rests there, thumb pressed against the dip beside his hip bone, while the other trails fingertips down a thin patch of fine hairs, before taking a hold of him once more.

The hitch of breath sings to him as he wets his lips. The hissed gasp draws his gaze up to green as he releases a hot breath against hotter skin. Eyes duck back to the task at hand, appreciating the wide girth before looking back up as he wraps lips around him, takes more of his length in his mouth to slick it with spit, all while watching teal eyes shutter as he begins to lose himself to pleasure. Moans at the slight buck of hips, restrained but not fully under control. Just how Qrow likes him. Still, he ought not encourage such rowdy behavior so early on, he thinks as he draws his mouth back to just the head, swirls his tongue around its edge in retaliation.

The desperate plea of a whimper rips unbidden from Clover’s lips, and he can’t help but pull insistently on salt and pepper locks. He tries to guide him back down, the sensation too much, too _good_ , but Qrow doesn’t allow it. He slides off, mouth making a filthy sound as suction is lost. Before Clover can groan out a protest, he’s pressing lips against the shaft, gliding down to its base. He pulls sensitive skin between lips, sucks just enough for an impatient whine to reach his ears, then swipes the flat of his tongue hot and heavy along his shaft, from base to tip. That whine becomes a deep groan at the act, cut off by a harsh suck of breath as Qrow’s hot tongue presses against the dripping hole.

“Q-Qrow,” he mewls pitifully, whispers his name over and over when his voice fails him.

Another breathy gasp is cut off as Qrow swallows the length of him again, tighter this time, squeezing his dick as it stiffens more. He clenches his throat around the head, gives a strong suck on his way back up. Glides back down faster, sucks a little harder as heavy pants drown out the sound of his pulse in his ears. He lets Clover guide him now, tugging him down as far as he needs, lets him buck up into his mouth when he pulls back too far. Finds himself moaning low and hungry with each thrust, feels how close Clover is, and he swallows prematurely against the weight in his throat, anticipating, eager. And oh just a little more, maybe this time, he thinks with each heavy slide against his tongue.

And that cry of pleasure finally fills the air, movements stutter, warmth filling his mouth as tensed muscles beneath his fingers quiver, the tight grip on his hair released as hands fall away weakly. He can’t help but seek out that beloved face as he gulps around the still pulsing weight in his mouth. Finds those teal gems as he does, and they squeeze shut with a gasp at the pressure so soon after release. Tense again as he rides out the jolt it sends through him, slowly opening eyes once he relaxes enough to send a disapproving pout to the man between his legs. And fuck, if he hadn’t just been so thoroughly ruined by his expert work, the mere sight of him, mouth still wrapped around him, face flushed, eyes a little damp but dancing with satisfaction, would be enough to send him back over the edge. Hands reach for Qrow's face, guide him as he draws back, the softening weight slipping from his mouth to rest against Clover’s stomach. 

Qrow leans into those hands, lets his tired jaw hang a little slack as he smiles sweetly up at Clover. And he thinks he likes this sight the best, body slick with sweat, resting tired against the sheets, face relaxed but flushed from the heat. Eyes still slightly fogged from the rush of pleasure. Lips ever so slightly curved up into a smile, too drained for anything more.

He is a little distracted, however, with the throbbing in his own shorts and untangles his arms from Clover’s thighs, turning onto his side slightly to reach himself. He gets in a few pumps before the hands on his face turn him back toward teal eyes.

“When I said it was your turn after, I meant that I would take care of you too.” Clover’s voice is a little ragged, and eyes close a moment as he finally catches his breath.

"You know, if you're too tired, you can just watch." Qrow’s tone is teasing, but his eyes are soft, fond. "Everything feels good when your eyes are on me."

Clover gives a gentle tug, a request to come closer. Qrow complies easily, climbing up the man's body to meet him for a kiss. It's sweet, chaste, but the taste of him on his mouth has Clover feeling anything but.

His hands slide from Qrow's face, brushing past stubble to his neck, give a firm squeeze at the juncture to his shoulder. They continue down his back, warm, comforting, firm enough to prevent a ticklish twitch over shoulder blades. Down, down, sliding over the curve of his butt all the way to his thighs, resting there for a moment.

Qrow hums appreciatively at the warm pressure of those fingers, whispers against soft lips, “Feels even better with your hands on me too.” He leans back, trails fingers from greying brunet locks around his ear, under his jaw all the way to his chin, tilting it back a little. “And when I’m finished we can cuddle, hm?”

He is greeted with an innocent smile at first, all warm affection and soft edges, until it hitches up into a sharp grin. The hands on his thighs slide down, yanking his knees forward on either side of Clover’s chest, and Qrow has to reach up and grab the headboard to stay balanced.

“Sh-shamrock, what the- ahhnnn,” he bites back the moan as warm hands grab firm hold of his ass, pulling him forward as Clover presses his face against his groin, mouths at his still clothed erection. “F-fuck…”

Clover noses at him, releases a hot breath against fabric. “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll do to my face, gorgeous.” And oh, even without the hitch of breath and the scratch of nails gripping the headboard above him, he knows the man is quickly coming undone as he feels him stiffen under his mouth. And it would just be terrible to tease him in such a state, he thinks, trailing his nose up to a waistband, higher to brush against hard muscle, teeth playing with the elastic band.

Hips jerk forward involuntarily, and it’s a struggle to still himself as he rasps, _”Clover."_

“Yes, dear?” His tone drips with wicked glee, and he releases fabric to press a kiss to abs, biting down much like Qrow had done to him. He murmurs a pleased sound against skin as muscles tense and another groan falls from his love’s lips.

“Oh my gods, you are the _worst_.” He deserves it, he knows he does, for all the teasing and taunting he’d inflicted on his husband. He rests his forehead against the headboard briefly, tries to collect himself to give a proper response. But he’s so achingly hard, it’s all that fills his mind, and he leans heavier against Clover’s face, desperate for what he’s offering. He feels he should warn him though. “Cloves, I… I’m not gonna be able to hold back.” He pushes off the headboard to look down at that beautiful face pressed into his crotch, at shimmering sea glass eyes that stare up at him hungrily. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you see stars.”

Calloused fingers take hold of that waistband and rip briefs down quickly, and his dick bounces with the movement before it’s swallowed whole in Clover’s mouth. Qrow gasps, bucking forward before he can brace himself on the headboard, a deep, heady moan punched from his throat.

Hands return to their hold on that firm butt, squeeze it as lips draw tightly back up Qrow’s length. They catch on the head, and he gives a few needy sucks, swaths his tongue insistently against the sensitive tip that’s already leaking.

“Fuck, give a guy a warning,” he’s cut off as his breath catches in his throat once more, hips rock once, twice, grip tightening on the wood beneath his fingers.

Lips retreat with a wet pop. “What’s that, pretty bird?” He gives a soft kiss to the head before moving to nip at a thigh, trailing teeth along skin as he awaits a reply. He’s being a horrid brat, he knows, but it’s only fair to tease as good as he gets.

One hand moves from the headboard to clutch at brunet strands, pulling, tilting his head so green meets frustrated red. Clover smiles lustfully up at him. “Thought you were the one who liked hair pulling.”

“And as we’ve discovered, you’re the one who likes biting, but that didn’t stop you.”

“Tell me what you want, birdie, and you’ve got it.” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s sincere, eager to please.

“I want you to put my dick back in your mouth, and suck it so good I can’t help but fuck your face until I can’t take it anymore.”

“Qrow- _fuck_ ,” Clover swears, not bothering to try to finish the thought as he hurriedly wraps his mouth back around him, moans around the thick weight on his tongue as he takes in what he can, sucking and closing his throat around the head.

And true to his word, Qrow thrusts hard and fast, until Clover can’t quite keep up. His head is pressed securely against the headboard as hips grind into his face, his nose pushing against Qrow’s pelvis with each thrust. His throat burns with each rough slam of his dick, burns in the best way, and he can’t even care that he’s starting to feel lightheaded.

_“Cloves, fuck, I’m gonna-”_

And Clover grips his ass tighter, swallows the full length of him, and holds Qrow firmly to himself as his body writhes with pleasure. He suppresses a cough as his mouth fills with the hot liquid, holding until his husband's quivering slows. It takes a few gulps to get it all down, and Qrow cries out weakly each time that throat closes tight around his dick, still so sensitive. And Qrow just wilts against him, head pressed into the crook of his elbow atop the headboard, unable to hold himself up now that he’s spent.

Clover lets the weight fall from his mouth, takes a few deep breaths until his head stops spinning. Hands adjust their hold supporting Qrow, carefully guiding him down from his perch to rest atop his chest. Fingers stroke dusty locks as Clover places a kiss to his forehead. “I gotchu, baby bird.”

Qrow mumbles incoherently in return, scooting up to bury his face in Clover’s neck. He sighs, content and sated, before his brain catches up with the reminder that this was supposed to be only about taking care of Clover. He resists the urge to shake his head and laugh at himself for getting carried away. Oh, but who could blame him? He nuzzles that neck, presses lips tenderly to skin in thanks. They always end up taking care of each other anyway, so it was silly of him to even try to fight it.

A few minutes pass of them simply laying together, feeling each other’s warmth and listening as shaky breaths even out and skittering hearts settle. It is then that the weight on his chest reminds Clover of something he’d forgotten in the heat of things.

“Hey… I know I say it a lot but… thank you.”

“Mm, what for?”

“For loving every part of me.”

No amount of tiredness could keep Qrow from lifting his head to seek out teal eyes. He searches them, looking for the hidden meaning in those words. Clover’s hand finds his where it sits over a scar, gives a light squeeze. Oh.

“You dummy,” he whispers affectionately. They’ve talked about it a hundred times, maybe more. But he knows what it’s like to need the occasional reminder. “What’s not to love.”

Warm vermilion remains fixed to cool seafoam, waiting until that understanding smile reaches eyes, softening in utter adoration when it does. Qrow’s own smile quirks upward, and he ducks his head down to the edge of that scar, places a gentle, reassuring kiss against the mark.

“I love you, birdie.”

“Love you too, shamrock shrimp.”

A snort of laughter erupts from Clover at the terrible nickname, and he ruffles Qrow’s hair in mock exasperation. “Okay, _feathers_ , what say we go get cleaned off?”

Qrow grins against warm skin.

“Round two in the shower? Sign me up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
